But Phra's father did not even glance at it. He gave Harry an angry glance as he approached with his companion, and then fixed his eyes sternly upon his son, who bent down before him.
"You know, sir," he said, in their own tongue, "that it is the duty of my people to obey my commands."
"Yes, father."
"How can we expect them to do so when my own son sets my orders at defiance? I told you I wished you not to go in chase of tigers, did I not?"
"Yes, father."
"Who is to blame for this, you or your companion?"
"Neither of us, sir," broke in Harry, in his blunt, English, outspoken way. "We only went deer-shooting, sir; but the tiger charged us, and of course we were obliged to shoot. Old Sul was most to blame."
The King looked more stern that ever, all but his eyes, which refused to keep his other features in countenance.
"What have you to say, sir?" said the King, turning again to his son.
"The same as Harry Kenyon, father," replied the boy. "The elephant rushed at the tiger, which had struck down a deer we shot."